


Unexpected Results

by kibasniper



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Arm Wrestling, Canon Era, Competition, Gen, Slice of Life, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 08:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16059011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Mikhail and Crystal arm wrestle, and things don't go as Mikhail planned.





	Unexpected Results

“Again.”

“Really? What number are we on? Isn't this like round fifty-three?”

“No. Is round twelve.”

Crystal rolled her eyes and threw her head back. She slumped further into her seat, her eyes lolling to the ceiling. The fluorescent lights burned her retinas, but she continued staring. It was much better having the light sear her eyes than dealing with Mikhail's incessant do-overs.

Mikhail kept his elbow perched on the wooden table. He flexed his fingers, the stinging redness of having his hand smashed into the picnic table beginning to numb. He cracked each individual knuckle with his thumb and waited.

Fixing her slouch, Crystal gripped the edges of her plastic chair and said, “Mikhail, I have class with Milla really soon. I can't keep arm wrestling you.”

“Not until I win,” Mikhail said, furrowing his brow.

“But-!” Crystal clamped her lips shut, the wild fever in Mikhail's glare silencing her. She sighed, knowing she was fighting a losing a battle. Setting her elbow on the table, she clutched Mikhail's larger, coarser hand. With a groan, she mumbled, “You count down, okay?”

Mikhail nodded, his grin beginning to stretch into his cheeks. Clearing his throat, Mikhail tightened his grasp, which formed red spots on her orange skin. Taking a breath, Mikhail steadied himself and said, “Three. Two. One.”

Like a streak of lightning before his eyes, Crystal slammed Mikhail's hand onto the table. Her arm moved so quickly that all Mikhail could make out was a splash of orange and yellow like a swift sunset. Her hand had squeezed him so tightly that he thought she had broken his phalanges, and as he registered the pain, he wrenched his hand off the table.

As Mikhail rapidly blew cool air onto his palm, soft applause reached them. Milka, who had been coloring at the adjacent table, had set down her markers and began clapping. Crystal chuckled, thanking Milka. With a polite grin, Milka returned drawing a picture of her current crush.

Mikhail squeezed his ring finger, popping out a splinter that had dug into his flesh from each time Crystal won. Flicking it away, Mikhail took in a deep breath. He closed his eyes, raised his shoulders, and he appeared to be in a meditative state.

Crystal would have cheered for herself, but wariness gnawed at her innards. She was unsure of what to say as Mikhail remained rigid like a stone statue. Slowly, she scooted her chair out from behind her, but as the metal squeaked on the floor, Mikhail's eyes snapped open. Yelping, Crystal broke into a panicked grin.

“One more time,” Mikhail urged, a pleading note in his tone. He leaned forward, gripping the table and breathing heavily through his nose.

“Uh, I'm so super duper sorry, Mikhail, but I have class. Maybe later?” Crystal offered, but Mikhail shot up, his chair clattering behind him. Wincing, Crystal brought her hands to her chest as a meager shield.

“How? How are you winning?” Mikhail asked, his voice low and treading on dangerous.

Crystal gulped, shuffling her feet. She searched for Milka's help, but Milka turned invisible. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Chef Cruller toiling away at the burgers. The coals remained unlit, and the pasty meat continued to be flipped by the grumbling old man. Peering at the stage resulted in disappointment as she saw Phoebe and Quentin's instruments abandoned, having left for Milla's class long minutes ago. No sound echoed from the television room, leaving her stranded with Mikhail.

“Your grip strength is surprisingly good. Strong, sturdy, very swift, too. A clutch. Then, it is over,” Mikhail said, taking Crystal's hand. He held her middle finger, flipping her hand over and gazing at her wrist. He nudged the tense skin in the fatty part of her palm.

“Uh, well...” Crystal trailed off, a weak laugh dying in her throat.

“So sudden that I cannot see you move. Very interesting,” Mikhail murmured, releasing her as the double doors opened. His eyes lit up, and he waved over the newcomer.

Raz turned away from Cruller, the sight of Mikhail and Crystal together peculiar. He had always seen Crystal with Clem, and Mikhail seemed to appreciate his time alone when he was not with Maloof to search for a hairless bear. The brief thought that they had become a couple crossed his mind as he considered the odd pairings he had seen in camp like JT and Elka.

“Let me guess,” Raz began, waltzing over to them, “you two are hooking up now?”

“No. I have standards.” Crystal's automatic response caused Mikhail's mouth to flop open for a moment as he looked down at her. She did not seem to realize the harmfulness of her words as Raz pursed his lips together, struggling to not laugh as Mikhail shook his head.

“I need you to arm wrestle this seemingly weak girl,” Mikhail said, gripping Raz' shoulder, “so I may observe her technique.”

It became Raz' turn to gawk. Mikhail's request circled around his mind, trying to become fathomable to him, but it simply lingered in fragmented phrases in his head. He blinked, his head tilting towards Crystal, and she quirked her lips into a grin. Clearing his throat, he asked Mikhail to rephrase his question.

“Arm wrestle her,” Mikhail insisted, his brow furrowing, “so I can watch. I must know how she does it. All girls here have skinny arms, but this one? Has skinny arms that hide strength.”

“I've been beating him for the past like seventy rounds, and he won't let me leave,” Crystal added, shrugging. “Mikhail's being a really sore loser, which I wanna say I don't mean, but I really do. He's a sore loser.”

“Is not seventy rounds but twelve rounds,” Mikhail said, the words pounding against his grit teeth, “and am not sore loser.”

“If you aren't a sore loser, why won't you let Crystal leave?” Raz asked, hitching his thumb over to the doors.

“Yeah! I'm sorry, Mikhail, but I have to get to Milla's class,” Crystal said, beginning to sidestep him, but Mikhail tore off his hat and blocked her path with it. Leaping back, Crystal's eyes widened, and she shot an apologetic look at Raz.

“Whoa! Easy, Mikhail.” Raz stepped in front of Crystal, his fingers idly resting by his temple, and Mikhail placed his hat back on his head. “How about this? I'll arm wrestle Crystal once, and afterwards, Crystal gets to leave. You get to watch her 'technique' or whatever, and Crystal goes to class afterwards. Is that fine?”

“Would prefer best two out of three to see if there is sleight of hand-” At Crystal and Raz' groan, Mikhail frowned. “-but one round is fine. Will observe a match.”

Thanking Raz, Crystal sat back down and kicked her legs. She felt Mikhail's shadow cross over her, sending a cooling shiver throughout her body, and she willed herself to glance up at Mikhail. Noticing his eyes were fixated on her hand, she gave him an uncertain wave and then set her elbow onto the table.

Cracking his knuckles, Raz smirked and said, “Just to warn you, Crystal, I can lift some pretty heavy weights, so I'm not gonna go too easy on you.”

Giggling, Crystal bobbed her head and replied, “Oki-dokie! Let's have a good match, Raz!”

Mikhail permitted Raz to count down. He listened to Raz drawl out the numbers, catching the confident flare burning in his eyes. Mikhail knew Raz was a formidable opponent for his unlikely competition. Raz was the first one to finish Basic Braining along with having a decent grasp on telekinesis and marksmanship. Raz would have proven to be a challenge for Crystal, someone Mikhail underestimated as he knew her as only a sad, helpless girl.

As the final number slipped out of Raz' mouth, Mikhail snapped his attention to Crystal's hand. Her fingers curled around Raz' hand, digging into Raz' skin, but unlike before, there was no lightning fast jerk of Crystal's arm or thunderous crashing of Raz' hand connecting with the table. Their arms remained tense and their knuckles white as their hands squeezed to the point where Mikhail heard a faint popping sound from Raz' index finger.

Crystal's expression remained neutral, but her blank smile made his skin crawl. She seemed to have no trouble at all as Raz' confidence dimmed, slowly being replaced with uncertainty. He grunted, beginning to push Crystal's hand towards the table. Mikhail's eyes widened, expecting a victory in Raz' favor as Crystal made no move to counter him.

Crystal hummed, her ponytail swishing behind her as Raz gnashed on his teeth, feeling as if his hand would snap from the amount of pressure she applied. He wheezed, screwing his eyes shut as he continued forcing her hand, wondering if it was made of steel, towards the table. The space between her hand and the table was almost an inch, and Raz broke into a grin, assured of his victory.

“Okay, Mikhail! Did you get to observe everything you needed?” Crystal asked, flashing a bright grin at the boy behind her.

Color faded from Mikhail's cheeks. Jarred by her question, he managed to mumble something in Russian, which Crystal took as approval.

“Awesome! I'll wrap this up now,” Crystal gushed, and a giggle reverberated inside her mouth.

As a few beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his face, Raz blurted, “What do you mean-?”

Then, the flash of orange and yellow returned. It was almost too fast to comprehend as Crystal heaved Raz' hand back up in their initial position before slamming his hand onto the table. As if a bomb burst in his head, the sound of Raz' hand crashing into the table deafened Mikhail.

Applause brought Mikhail back to reality. Milka clapped once again for Crystal's victory. She set her index finger and thumb into her mouth and blew, her whistle adding to the modest fanfare. As Crystal thanked her, Milka returned to coloring Elton's hair.

Raz gawked, the pain beginning to set as he ripped his hand away from Crystal. Waving it as if to fling off his agony, he sucked down a breath and offered a weary grin. “Wow! I was not expecting that. You're just like my sister, Frazie. She's a master at arm wrestling.”

Crystal chuckled, clapping her hands together and exclaiming, “Thank you, Raz! That was lots of fun, but I really have to get going now!”

She leaped up from her chair and turned to face Mikhail. She opened her mouth to speak, but taking in Mikhail's dumbstruck expression made her lips promptly close. Humming, Crystal skipped to Mikhail's side and snickered.

“Let's arm wrestle again really soon, okay, Mikhail? Maybe you'll beat me next time!” Crystal cheered, and she flounced towards the front door, a skip to her step as if she was about to levitate. Gripping the handle, Crystal went to turn it only to pause. Peering over her shoulder, she added, “Or maybe I'll win again! See you guys later!”

Her comments dug deeper than the splinters. Mikhail's thoughts raced for a quick-witted response, but Crystal was already out the door. The only sounds remaining in the lodge were Milka's markers scratching against her paper to shade in the finer details of Elton's hair and Chef Cruller's spatula smacking his frigid grill while he snarled about frozen patties.

Raz stood up and stretched his stinging hand. Wiggling his fingers, he said, “Well, that was fun. I didn't expect Crystal to be so strong. You know, she'd really get along great with Frazie.”

Silence followed his remarks. Raz looked up to Mikhail, finding him staring at the empty, shadowy space near the entrance. He snapped his fingers by Mikhail's ear and earned no reaction. Not even a cursory glance was spared towards him. Shrugging, Raz decided it was time to head off for more advanced training.

As Raz left, Mikhail sat down. He cupped his jaw, wondering how he missed her prowess. He had greatly underestimated Crystal's strength. Even if she was not exactly a powerful psychic, she had poignancy that was entirely foreign to him. In her lithe frame was an untapped strength possibly fueled by some sort of psychic energy. Mulling over the possibilities of her power, Mikhail heard Milka snicker.

“What do you want, eavesdropper?” Mikhail asked, an irritated huff in his voice.

With a knowing grin, Milka turned invisible. Mikhail listened to her footsteps as she approached him. Feeling Milka's hand pat his shoulder, Mikhail swallowed.

“Mikhail, you just need to get good,” Milka said, and she quickly escaped as he jerked forward, her voice enticing a fight. Milka scampered away, her footsteps fading out until she reached the entrance and threw herself out.

Wishing he had sugar to throw on her, Mikhail scowled and wondered who else he had been underestimating in Whispering Rock. Certainly not Bobby or Benny, but he felt there were still unknown challenges waiting for him as his odd summer continued.


End file.
